We Are Soldiers
by Crossroad Avarice
Summary: "We are the ones who will never be broken. With our final breath, we'll fight to the death. We are soldiers, we are soldiers." OCs.


**Rila:** Aaand I'm back, with another project that will inevitably swallow me whole and not spit me out until I've finished it. -_-; I have yet another idea bouncing around, but that one will probably not be posted here. If I ever get it posted, I will give details as to where it is. Anyway~

Disclaim: I wish I owned TCW, but I don't, so...

Word Count: 875

* * *

_We Are Soldiers_

* * *

_Year _— _20 BBY_

_Location _— _[Redacted]_

* * *

Whoever said war is hell was completely right. It's a mess of orders and blaster fire, of brothers falling right and left and trying to survive.

And for us, it's life.

"Say your prayers, boys. We drop in five." We're bathed in red light, and I can see it glint off of Burr's visor. He cuts an intimidating figure in his kit — we all do, even though there's only a handful of us.

_And they're bringing us in like we're some kind of salvation._ I almost want to laugh, but I don't — instead, I take to inspecting my weapon.

"Ready for this?"

I look up, staring into another visor. We all look the same on the outside — and few, if any, care to distinguish between us inside the armor.

"Of course," I say. This will be the first time on the battlefield in this armor, and it'd be a lie to say I'm not eager to try it out.

"Cut the chatter," Burr cuts in. "Let's go." The LAAT/i steadies, and the door slides open. Burr nods before he steps over the edge, vanishing.

Tassi is next, followed quickly by Jinx and Rumble. I am the last out, and I watch the LAAT/i grow smaller and smaller as I plummet. A burst from the jetpack softens my landing, but I still feel it in my back teeth.

"Go! Go! Go!" orders Burr, and I lift my gun as I follow my brothers.

Whoever said war is hell was right — but it's also simple, too. Because I have my gun, and I know where to aim.

* * *

_Year _— _21 BBY_

_Location _— _Kamino_

* * *

The afterlife.

Thom had never been sure what it would be like, but he was certain that he'd never thought it would be like this — all bright lights and aching pain in his left arm, and a sudden urge to vomit. He rolled, fingers gripping fabric as he emptied his stomach and began coughing so hard that his lungs burned and black dots danced behind his eyes.

"You okay, son?" A hand found the middle of his back and slapped him, hammer blows that did little to help ease the burning in Thom's chest.

"Fine," he gasped, and the hand left his back as he sat up, taking ragged gulps of air. Black dots still danced behind his eyelids, and he was almost afraid to open them. "This isn't purgatory, is it?"

There was a snort. "You believe in that stupid —" The speaker caught himself. "No, kid. Take a look around — this look like any sort of purgatory to you?" The speaker fell silent, and Thom opened one eye slowly, followed by the other. Either from the ferocity of his coughing fit or something else, it took several moments for his vision to stop blurring and snap into focus.

White. Everything was white. That alone suggested some sort of residency in the afterlife — but as he scanned the room, Thom felt his stomach sinking and the illusion of purgatory fading from his mind. The room smelled too clean, too sterile. He knew this place. "Kamino," he murmured.

"Bingo." Thom looked up, locking eyes with another set of brown. The same shade, set into the same face. "Death's too good for us, apparently." His fellow clone sighed and shook his head before looking back up. "I'm Burr."

"Thom," he returned, and frowned. "How'd I end up here?"

Burr returned his frown with one of his own. "Don't you remember what happened, son?" Thom shook his head. Burr shook his head as well, adding a soft sigh. "Take a look at yourself, kid."

Confused, Thom looked down. Both his legs were still there, as was his right arm. But there was a persistent ache in his left arm, one that made him turn to look at it. His eyes fell upon a gap where his arm should have been, the stump of his shoulder wrapped in clean white bandaging. He glanced at Burr. "Why aren't I..."

"Dead?" Burr offered, and Thom nodded. He'd seen brothers sent to Kaliida Shoals for treatment and never come back — they were the men that his squad never talked about, names they never said aloud again. "I'm not sure. You'd think those long necks would kill us and be done with it." Burr leaned back against the pillows of his bed.

Thom frowned and opened his mouth to protest, though he fell silent as the door opened. Thom turned. "You wanted answers," he murmured to Burr, voice a low whisper as his eyes scanned the face of the Kaminoan that strode forward. "Now's your chance to get them."


End file.
